Alhaitham never considered himself the "fatherly" type. He valued logic, solitude, and efficiency—none of which seemed compatible with raising a child. Yet, here he was, a tiny hand gripping his finger, wide eyes staring up at him with an innocence that made his normally sharp mind momentarily blank.

His child was curious—relentlessly so. Always tugging at his clothes, climbing onto his lap while he read, asking questions about things far beyond their years. Alhaitham answered each one patiently, never dumbing things down, even if their small brows furrowed in confusion.

"Why is the sky blue?" "Because of Rayleigh scattering." "Who's Rayleigh?" "A scientist." "What's a scientist?" "...Ask your mother."

He wasn't outwardly affectionate, but his care was unmistakable. He always adjusted their scarf before they went outside, carried them effortlessly when they got tired, and let them nap on his chest while he read.

And if anyone ever dared to belittle their intelligence? His child wouldn’t even have to lift a finger—Alhaitham’s sharp tongue was a weapon on its own.